


Bravery Knows No Mercy

by queenofthewips (lilithduvare)



Category: Atlantis: The Lost Empire (2001), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Atlantis AU, Blood, Bucky is the Atlantean crown prince, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, M/M, Made up Language, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Sacrifice, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, kind of, the little red book of horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 12:23:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8979571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilithduvare/pseuds/queenofthewips
Summary: Steve never wanted this to happen. He had dreamed of finding Atlantis one day since he was a little boy, but he never thought that he would ever get the chance to do it. 
Twenty years later, here he is, in the heart of Atlantis, his useless, pathetic body shielding B'ckee, the crown prince of Atlantis while he watches with growing horror as Alexander Pierce opens a little red book that will destroy an entire nation. For the greater good.
Or an Atlantis - The Lost Empire AU people should have been writing ages ago.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sweetteaowl](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=sweetteaowl).



> This is for the lovely [sweetteaowl ](http://sweetteaowl.tumblr.com) who came up with the amazing prompt of shrinkiclinks Atlantis AU for the Stuckythorki Secret Santa 2016.
> 
> This story is both longer and shorter than I expected and maybe it doesn't do justice to this incredible movie, but I hope you will like it anyway.

B’ckee is nothing like Steve.

Steve is way too aware his own physical failings, something his brain can’t make up for. He is scrawny, weak and generally a stubborn idiot who is too often on the brink of death to care anymore. B’Ckee is strong, breathtaking and exhilarating despite his surly expression and all around distrust. He is perfect in spite or maybe because of his own physical imperfection, the limp, intricate metal arm that is hanging where his flesh left arm should be.

B’ckee is a warrior, a prince, a god.

Steve is… none of those.

Yet here they are, facing off Alexander Pierce together, trying to prevent him from destroying a world that beholds nothing but wonder and miracles. Steve wants nothing more than to tackle the vile man, to be brave and push the gun out of his hand, maybe even jump in front of a bullet for B’ckee. He wants to destroy Pierce with his bare hands for deceiving them.

For deceiving Peggy.

For ruining everything.

But he can’t. Pierce is not alone, his team is backing him, ignoring the generosity, the friendship, the open welcome the people of Atlantis offered them without reservations. They refuse to look at Steve, Stark’s eyes the first to slide away from him, while Natasha stays defiant with her jaw set tightly, the hand holding her gun never wavering. But her eyes are on B’ckee, refusing to meet Steve’s glare, the only sign of shame she shows. Grinding his teeth together and leaving his jaw aching, Steve turns back to focus on Pierce, his body doing a horrible job to cover B’ckee’s much larger frame.

“I can’t let you do this,” Steve says, lifting his chin and squaring his shoulders for all the good it does for him. “These people have been nothing but kind and you would destroy their home, their lives for… what? Money? Fame? Power? You disgust me.”

“That is not up to you, I’m afraid, Mr. Rogers.” Pierce offers a lukewarm smile full of condescension that makes Steve’s blood boil. “The power you and your young prince are protecting would help us reshape history. Help us make the world better.”

“So you’re fine with killing thousands of people? For what? For a slight chance of getting more power amongst people?” Steve argues, his nails biting into the flesh of his palm, stinging sharply. “You cannot be sure this would work in the above world.”

“But it did,” Pierce says, patient like a long-suffering professor having to explain a theory for the hundredth time. “After all, Atlantis used to exist in the ‘above world’ as you call it. And their energy source worked perfectly. Now, our history lesson has to come to an end. Prince B’ckaanannan, I think it’s time you stopped hiding behind the back of young Mr. Rogers’ meager shield of protection.”

“I don’t need to Steve to protect me,” B’ckee says, icy with fury. Steve wants to look back, wants to lean back to reassure B’ckee that he has things under control, but it would be a lie. And he doesn’t dare to take his gaze off Pierce and the book in his hand.

“Your bravery is admirable, Your Highness,” Pierce chuckles just a second before his face smooths over, emotions disappearing altogether. _“Mu_ _š_ _awwiq.e._ _”_

Steve’s breath catches and everything goes silent around him.

No.

This cannot be happening.

He has to do something.

Anything.

He looks at Stark, desperate, but Stark is staring at the floating monuments above them, the flaring blue light reflecting in his usually brown eyes and turning them into eerily glowing pools of blue. Natasha is glaring at Pierce’s head with a fierceness Steve wishes she had used on the man, but her weapon is still aimed at Steve, arm not tired at all. Clint is crouching atop the they stole from the Atlanteans, his bow lowered and his scowl dark. At least he seems to be just as against this whole thing as Steve is, even if he’s not brave enough to do anything.

“Don’t do this.” Steve can’t believe he’s pleading. They have no idea what is going to happen to the power source. Or B’ckee.

Natasha cocks her gun, making Steve realize that he took a step forward. He glares at her, and she just shrugs, her eyes still on Pierce.

“ _Sd_ _ạ̉.esh,”_ is Pierce’s answer, not heeding any mind to Steve at all.

The light above them brightens even further and B’ckee’s pained groan is almost lost in the thrumming hum echoing in the cavern.

Steve whips around on instinct, gasping at the sight of B’ckee with his gray eyes turned into glowing blues, face contorted into a grimace as if he’s fighting for control. His pendant is hovering in the air in front of his chin, and Steve has to stop this. He reaches out, ready to touch, but a shot rings out——too wide but close enough to warn him.

“B’ckee,” he calls, quiet and pathetic, but B’ckee’s attention is lost already, shackled by the magical binding o those despicable words.

And Pierce just goes on.

“ _Ehep.tos._ _”_

It makes Steve desperate. He whips around and rushes towards Pierce, body barely flinching when another shot rings out, nearly brushing his ear. But he can’t stop. He can’t allow this to happen. He has to save B’ckee—

_Bang._

_Bang. Whoosh._

His body jerks just a few steps shy of Pierce, pain blooming in his right side. Steve’s head bows on instinct, gaze glued to the rapidly spreading red stain on his dirty white shirt. It’s a shock, his legs faltering and his eyes raise slowly, uncomprehending.

Natasha is looking back at him now, but her gun isn’t trained on Steve anymore. Her arm is snapped to the side, the muzzle of her weapon smoking. Pierce’s eyes are wide, his thin lips curled around another word even as his knees buckle under him, fingers slackening around that blasted red book.

“ _F-fajr.un_ ,” he stutters, his neck painted crimson. Natasha’s precision is breathtaking.

The book lands with a thud on the rocky ground, and along with Pierce’s body another falls. Rumlow is lying face down not far from Pierce, his gun next to him and an arrow sticking out from his back.

If only things were really that simple.

B’ckee is still in trance behind him, the blue glow above them near blinding but otherwise impotent. Everything seems to be in limbo now that Pierce is dead and there is no one to finish the ritual.

And there is no one to save B’ckee either.

Steve wants to. He wants so much, but he is lying in the shallow water, the world flickering in and out of focus around him. He feels cold, and has no idea how long he can hold on before he succumbs to the threatening darkness eating away at his vision.

He senses someone touching him, a shock of agony shooting a rush of adrenaline through his body and snapping his eyes open with a strangled gasp. When did he close them anyway? He blinks up at Natasha’s crouching form above him, her mouth set in a thin line as her hands press down on Steve’s side. It hurts.

“Don’t you dare die on me, Rogers,” she snarls, green eyes ablaze with blue fire. She is beautiful. Fierce. A good leader. “You have to stop this.”

“It’s… okay,” Steve finds himself saying.

“It’s not okay, Rogers!” Natasha snaps and her hand sends another jolt of pain through Steve’s body, making him gasp. “Your stupid prince is still over there and that power thing is about to blow us up! So get your ass up and do something!”

It’s hard to concentrate on her words, but Steve does his best, clinging onto the shock-waves of chemicals rushing through his veins. He struggles to sit up, the world a strange blur around him. Natasha is watching him closely, guiding him until his torso is off the ground and then suddenly he is supported by something soft yet oddly hard.

“Let’s do this, yeah?” Clint asks from behind him, but it still takes Steve way too long to realize it’s Clint’s back he’s leaning against.

“Y-yeah,” he coughs, his lungs rattling as if already threatening with pneumonia just from lying in cod water for a couple of minutes. “The book?”

“Here.” It’s Tony’s hand holding the red little booklet, the black star in the center of it eerily complementing his greasy fingers. “Just do your hocus-pocus shit and get us out of here. In one piece if possible.”

“Can’t make promises.” It’s weak, his wits oozing away in the steady flow of his blood, but Steve still makes an attempt to smile at Stark even if it probably looks like a grimace instead.

His fingers are dripping water and shaking too hard, but he still grabs the book and somehow even manages to open it. To stop the ritual from being finished… it’s a task no one has tried before. There is no magical word that can halt the process. No set of chants, spells, curses… Steve knows this. He has known this from the beginning.

The gods upholding the power source need an outlet, they need to find a vessel and deem it worthy otherwise all the energy whirling inside the monument will collapse in on itself and possibly destroy Atlantis. The ritual needs to be finished and then they have to hope the gods will accept B’ckee as their offering. The thought alone is preposterous. They will accept B’ckee without doubt. How could they not when B’ckee is fierce, loyal, incredible… the perfect choice.

He is the best offering the gods could ask for. Steve has faith in him and his success. Even if it ultimately means sacrificing everything they have barely started to build, their fragile relationship, the connection that has been there from the very beginning. A part of him wants to be selfish and throw himself at B’ckee in hope that it will be enough to disrupt the ritual, but he can’t. And as much as Stark loves to make fun of him for always thinking of other, of how _noble_ Steve is, it’s the very thing that will hopefully save them. And B’ckee too. 

Steve takes a deep breath, air rattling in his chest, and looks down at the page where the ritual is standing out like black blood against the creamy pages. He know what he has to do, even if it makes him nauseous. Or maybe it’s just the blood loss. Whatever it is, he steels himself and opens his mouth. He cannot afford failure.

“ _Furn.un_ ,” he says, carefully forming each sound but too much of a coward to look at B’ckee.

B’ckee groans but it’s quickly turning into a steady string of growling. Steve swallows around the bile burning the back of his throat and pushes on. “ _Nit. Latif.un._ _”_ B’ckee screams, the sound horrible enough to make Clint flinch behind Steve’s back and make Natasha’s fingers twitch on Steve’s side.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Stark barks, his hand grabbing Steve’s tattered shirt. The light around them is blinding now, obscuring Stark’s face from Steve’s already hazed vision. “You’re supposed to save our asses not kill us by blowing up——”

“Shut up, Stark, and let Rogers do his job,” Natasha snaps, one of her blood soaked hands reaching out and pushing Stark’s offending fingers off Steve.

“But—”

“I said, shut up! Go on, Rogers.” Steve’s nod is shaky at best and he needs to take in a few more deep breaths before he can continue.

“ _Awb.un.e. Din._ _”_ Only one more word left. He can do it. Even if B’ckee’s screams are deafening now, filled with agony and desperation. He needs to do it. There is no other way. “ _Arabat.un._ ”

Everything goes quiet for a second, even B’ckee. Then, in an explosion, the blue light fills the entire cavern, washing over everything with its cool judgment. Steve feels like someone is trying to crush his lungs, breathing turning into an impossibility. He tries to gasp, to breathe in but it’s useless. The gods are going to kill him for betraying B’ckee’s trust and he deserves it. Because sacrificing someone one holds dear to their heart for the greater good does not justify the crime.

And never will.

He thinks about praying for one last chance to beg for B’ckee’s forgiveness. He thinks about praying to the gods condemning him, begging them to keep B’ckee and the nation of Atlantis safe. To forgive his team for turning against Atlantis. To allow them to get home safe.

Suddenly, air expands Steve’s chest, forcing him to gasp in desperation, a cough clawing free of his throat. His eyes open wide from the shock and he realizes that he closed them sometime between the explosion and the incredible force trying to suffocate him. He wheezes, not understanding what just happened, but then he hears a quiet groan somewhere near and it’s enough to pull him out of his daze, if marginally.

Enough to think, _‘I’m alive.’_

He doesn’t have enough wits yet to figure out what it means, but maybe it’s for the best. He doesn’t have enough energy to lift his head an look around, his vision spotty at best. Yet he still notices the absence of blinding blueness. The light is still there, seemingly swirling in and out of sight, but it feels muted… contained? Steve doesn’t know. Doesn’t understand.

He feels drained.

Maybe it really is the end.

He spares one last thought to B’ckee, wills his head to raise off whatever soft object it’s lying on——to no avail. His body is useless beyond breathing and even that’s a feat. His mind is scrambled, thoughts blown through with heavy holes. He is so tired…

A sluggish blink and glowing blue stars watching him. Guarding him.

Darkness.

Warmth.

Quiet.

Is he dead after all?

Mayb—

A cacophony of sound. Voices. Harsh and barking. Demands. Orders.

Steve feels… feels.

Maybe he isn’t dead after all.

Darkness.

A small little sound. Warmth concentrating in one point.

His hand?

Steve thinks he is frowning, skin scrunching and pulling on his face. His eyelids feel lead-weight. But he is almost sure now.

He is not dead after all.

In the end, he manages to open his eyes, taking in his blurred surroundings. A room. Brightly lit and familiar. He has been here before. His back is resting against something soft, but his attention is drawn by the glint of metal and blue light.

B’ckee.

B’ckee’s head snaps up, and Steve blinks. Did he say that out loud?

“Steve,” B’ckee says, his eyes eerie blue where once they shined silvery gray. But it’s him, really him, healthy and whole, not one scratch on him.

A pathetic excuse of a whimper pushes past Steve’s lips, shame flooding him out of nowhere alongside with the near crippling rush of memories. He was right. The gods deemed B’ckee worthy and appointed him as their vessel.

It doesn’t lighten the blow of Steve’s betrayal.       

He doesn’t understand how B’ckee can look at him, be in the same room as him. There is no reason to kid himself with excuses that it was necessary. That the fate of Atlantis depended on Steve. He failed B’ckee plain and simple. Everything else is just a pitiful excuse.

Yet, B’ckee is here with him, his usually cool metal fingers skin warm against Steve’s hand. Steve is lost for words, would be even I his mouth remembered how to form words, the muscle memory buried under his disorientation and confusion.

“Everything is fine,” B’ckee continues when Steve fails to say anything.

But it’s a lie. Not everything is fine. And Steve might be a coward who cannot fight his own fights, but he isn’t a liar. He doesn’t delude himself with placations. But shaking his head only causes a wave of dizziness, and he’s probably lucky he doesn’t hurl his stomach up from the heavy burst of nausea smashing against his skull.

A blink of an eye and B’ckee is there, the crystal in his neck glowing bright to match his eyes. He waves his hand over Steve’s stomach, just shy on touching, and the urge to vomit recedes within moments. Steve’s head starts clearing in increments.

“B’ckee,” he breathes, hoarse and disconcerting.

“It’s okay, Steve. You saved us.”

No. That’s a lie.

“It’s true.”

“I… used those… words. Curse.”

B’ckee sighs and his hand slides behind Steve’s neck, soothing. “It felt terrible.” Steve clenches his eyes shut for a second, but he cannot afford that. He owes B’ckee the respect to look him in the eye while he tells Steve what his fate will be. “It hurt worse than anything I ever felt before. But it was the only way.”

“No. No, B’ckee,” Steve argues, his jaw clenching. He doesn’t need the comfort. He doesn’t deserve the comfort.

“For the gods’ sake, Steve! This idiotic self-flagellation and need to act like a martyr is getting beyond tiring,” B’ckee snipes, his fingers clenching on Steve’s nape in warning. “You _saved_ everyone. Accept it.”

“But I hurt you…” He can’t go on. Can’t say the words. But he has to. So he grits his teeth, blinks away a new wave of exhaustion and swallows around the urge to cough. “I betrayed you.”

B’ckee is close enough for him to see the pure exasperation that paints his face. He goes as far as rolling his eyes before he leans down and presses his forehead against Steve’s, free hand weaving into Steve’s hair.

“You did what was necessary. I could never condemn you for that,” he whispers, his breath tickling Steve’s cracked lips. “So just shut up and accept everyone’s gratefulness. Because you are a hero.”

“I’m n—”

“Yes, you are.”

“But—”

“I can’t believe you!” B’ckee snaps and plasters a hand over Steve’s mouth. “Just shut up Steven Rogers. Don’t say a thing, because no one is interested in your self-deprecation besides yourself. We know your true worth and it’s high time you learned it too.”

Steve glares as hard as he can without going cross-eyed at B’ckee’s closeness. He’s not being a martyr, he isn’t trying to be difficult. But the truth is the truth no matter what B’ckee tries to  tell him to convince him otherwise.

Steve is no hero.

“You are a strong, brave and loyal man, Steve Rogers, and my people are indebted to you.”

“B’ckee…” What is there to say to that? It’s not true but B’ckee refuses to accept it. Still, Steve can’t accept their gratefulness. It just wouldn’t be right.

“Look, Steve, I understand,” B’ckee says, quiet and serious. His gaze is burning with impossible power, breathtaking and hypnotizing. Steve has never wanted anyone so much in his life, even if his desire is nothing but wistful yearning. “I’m a soldier. I was raised to be a warrior and learned that life is anything but fair. The price of freedom is high, we all know this in Atlantis, and you were willing to pay it no matter how much it went against your morals. I respect that.”

“I…” Steve stops himself. He feels floored, flustered, speechless. To hear B’ckee say those words, to tell Steve he respects him… Respect. Steve needs to act with the same respect B’ckee is showing him. “Thank you,” he says, the words tasting like ash on his tongue.

“Good.” B’ckee’s face transforms in a second, cheeks bunching up, his lips pulling wide, his eyes shine with more than power. He is smirking, smug and cheeky. Steve’s face copies him, tired muscles aching from the exertion of smiling. “Now rest. You’ll feel much better when you wake up.”

Steve starts to shake his head but a sudden yawn halts the movement. B’ckee chuckles and leans over Steve’s bed, lips brushing against Steve’s forehead before he stands up and takes his leave with a last little wave. Leaving a wide-eyed Steve behind.

He wants to call after B’ckee, ask him what the hell happened, but it’s too late and his body is heavier than it should be. So, instead of over-analyzing B’ckee’s new found gentleness, he succumbs to spreading static in his head and falls back into sleep.

He wakes up to Stark’s snarky voice and has to blink a few times before it becomes clear that all of his team is in his room, wearing Atlantean clothes and looking way too chipper for people who nearly caused the destruction of an entire nation. But that’s not fair. Not exactly. After all, in the end it was Natasha and Clint who stopped Pierce from finishing the ritual and then somehow steal the power source the Atlantean gods blessed Atlantis with. They chose to do the right thing in the end, and that is what should matter.

Steve watches them in silence, none of them aware that he woke up, too engrossed in their bantering. He doesn’t know how to feel. On the one hand, these people are his team, no matter how ragtag their group is. They have worked together to find Atlantis, and stuck by his side even when they had little faith their mission would be successful. A mission that’s over now. Which brings him to the other side of the coin. The only thing that is keeping them in Atlantis: their lack of way to go home.

And Steve’s stupid heart.

His heart that is yearning to stay, longing to learn everything about Atlantis and its culture. He wants to stay…

With B’ckee.  

Pushing the thought away, he forces his body to shift on the bed. It’s enough to draw Natasha’s attention immediately, her sharp green eyes cutting to him. She is sitting the closest to him, close enough to see her expression flash with some emotion before she turns away to pick up something from the bedside table. Steve wants to watch her but Stark is pushing into his line of vision, his beard neatly trimmed and lacks smudges of oil and dirt.

“Look at Sleeping Beauty,” he croons, his smirk familiar and just as annoying as it was before they left on their expedition. “He’s the fairest of them all, sacrificing everything to save the world.”

“Shut up, Stark,” Clint snaps, his fist smacking against Stark’s shoulder, hard. “Steve did good.”

“Yes,” Thor agrees with his giant, jovial smile being the only thing Steve can make out of him. “Steven is a warrior of the finest sort! With the heart of a true bear you charged in and defied evil and came victorious!”

Steve cannot help but smile at Thor’s eccentric speech, oddly touched, just as Tony asks, “Bear? What are you talking about? Have you seen this guy? He looks like small breeze would knock him over.”

Steve’s smile turns into a snort that distorts into a cough that wracks his entire body. Natasha sighs above him and pushes Tony to the ground as if it’s nothing to place Steve’s glasses on his nose. “There, there, Rogers. Don’t kill yourself over that idiot.”

“I’m… fine,” he wheezes, rubbing his chest with shaky hands. “I guess falling face first in that lake wasn’t the best idea.”

“You could say that. Your dear prince was beyond himself for the past week since he come down from his flashy power trip,” Natasha says into his ear, in the guise of a hug. She pulls back just a fraction a second later, her smirk devious. “Care to tell how did that happen?”

Steve feels his face heat up, but he scowls anyway. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He tries to breathe deep in and let it out slowly, but his lungs feel scratchy, which makes it hard.

“Of course not.”

“What are you two whispering about?” Tony demands, still on the floor.

“None of your business, Tony. Now get up, it’s time we leave Steve to rest,” Natasha commands. “The poor Atlantean healers are frazzled over his pathetic body without us tiring him out even more.”

“I’m fine.”

“You really are not, man,” Clint pipes in with a shake of his head. “You almost died.”

“But I didn’t.”

“Doesn’t matter. You have to rest.”

“But——”

“Steve.” Natasha’s tone is quiet but firm. “We’re fine. Everyone is safe.”

Steve cannot hold her omniscient gaze, so he sinks back into his pillow, not even realizing he somehow managed to half-sit up, and lets his eyes fall close. He must be more tired than expected because the next time he wakes up B’ckee is sitting by his side, his long, callused fingers grasping Steve’s hand.

“I have half the mind to kill you,” is the first thing he says, making Steve’s jaw drop. “Do you have any idea… of course you don’t.”

Steve watches him stand up and start pacing, while tugging at his dark hair. It used to be white, but ever since Steve first woke up in this bed, B’ckee’s hair has been dark brown. It’s unique and suits him perfectly. However, Steve doesn’t think he would appreciate being told that he looks beautiful with his new hair. Especially with an expression like that.

“B’ckee?” Steve tries, wincing at how timid he sounds. He’s better than this tentativeness. He clears his throat and tries again. “B’ckee.”

“Look, Steve.” B’ckee sighs and turns to face him. “These past two months were… wonderful.” Steve knows where this is going just by looking at B’ckee’s strained expression. It doesn’t make it easier to ignore the icy block of dread wedged into his throat. “You and your team showed us that our isolation, while reasonable to some degree, is damaging and hinders the progress of our society. At the same time, that man, Pierce, showed us that human greed can strip a person of reason and destroy nations.” B’ckee takes a deep breath before continuing. “What I wanted to say is that I’m grateful for you being here. And I know your life is waiting for you…”

“My life?” Steve asks, confused. This is certainly not the speech he expected. He thought B’ckee would say ‘Thank you for nearly destroying my country, can you go now?’. With slightly less outright hostility of course. This is something else though. “My life is a joke,” he goes on when B’ckee doesn’t reply. “If it wasn’t for Peggy—”

“Peggy?” Something dark flashes in B’ckee’s eyes, but Steve refuses to even entertain the thought that it could be jealousy.

“Our benefactor,” Steve says with a small smile. “She’s an incredible dame… person. You would adore her, she is fierce and sharp. Can talk circles around any man.”

“Sounds like the perfect… partner.”

Steve thinks back of the pictures showcased on the wall of Peggy’s study. Her family looked happy and her husband entirely gone on her. He nods. “Yes. Her husband used to think the same thing too, I’m sure.”

“Her husband?”

“Late husband. She is in her nineties now. Still such a spry woman at her age.”

B’ckee is silent, not saying a word. He takes a step closer. Then another one. Steve blinks, brows furrowing and the next thing he knows is that his hand is grabbed by B’ckee’s and B’ckee is lowering himself to his knees.

“I admire you, Steve. Your friendship has come to mean much more to me than you could ever imagine. And I know you have to go back——”

“I don’t,” Steve blurts out before he can stop himself. B’ckee is close, his eyes wide and hypnotizing. It draws Steve close, pulling him to lean over and be brave. Bold. To brush his lips over B’ckee’s pink, warm ones. “I don’t want to go back,” Steve whispers when he pulls back, uncertain where his courage came from.

“Good,” B’ckee murmurs, his breath brushing over Steve’s lips. “I don’t want you to go back either.”

When their lips meet this time, their kiss deepens immediately, B’ckee opening his mouth to suck on Steve’s lower lip gently. Steve hums and wraps his arms around B’ckee’s neck, pulling him over his body for better access. He gets lost in the slick heat of B’ckee’s mouth, the push and stroke of their tongues leaving him breathless. B’ckee isn’t fairing better either, his pants break their kisses again and again.

They are both horrible at it, but determined to learn. To improve.

Except Steve’s body is a useless piece of shit and makes itself known in the most humiliating way possible: he coughs into B’ckee’s face. They stare at each other for a moment, Steve brimming with horror while B’ckee looking shocked, before they burst into laughter that triggers another fit of coughing in Steve.

By the time his lungs decide it’s fine to let him live, he is wrapped in B’ckee’s arms and lying on his bed, eyes closed and slightly dizzy. B’ckee’s nose is tickling his ear, his exhales warm against the sensitive lobe, and Steve wants to stay like this forever. He feels exhausted and drained, but somehow it’s a good feeling, and he chooses not to over-analyze it. He knows they have a lot left to talk about.

But for now he is fine with basking in B’ckee’s closeness.

And the feeling of belonging somewhere.


End file.
